More like where Jason might show with an ax.
The bikes stopped.
I stopped, cut the ignition to my Subaru, tossed open my door, hauled myself out, slammed my door and advanced fast on who I was guessing was the leader of the pack.
The guy who’d rode to my left.
He was off his bike when I got there.
He was also taller than I’d have guessed.
He definitely rocked that leather jacket.
And he had a great head of thick, dark hair that was overlong. So long one side of the front was tucked behind his ear and it was flippy messy in the back in a way that practically begged a woman to grab hold.
I did not grab hold.
I got up to the toes of my boots and shouted in his face, “You could have killed yourself, asshole!”
“Calm down,” he growled.
Oh yeah.
Growled.
His voice was deep and gravelly, rumbling up his chest and out his mouth in a way I could almost trace that shit.
I ignored this additional nugget of awesomeness that made this biker and yelled, “Calm down? Calm down? Are you insane?” I took a step back and threw out both arms. “I’m in the middle of nowhere at Jason’s Lodge o’ Ax Murdering Fun with a pack of bikers when I should right now be home, meditating or some shit.”
His head tipped to the side. “You meditate?”
I didn’t answer that.
I said, “Newsflash. When a bunch of dudes on bikes wearing leather jackets with patches surrounds a woman’s car, she’s not gonna go Thelma and Louise on their asses on the exit ramp off Speer Boulevard to I-25, which is right in the heart of the city, which means right in the heart of Denver traffic. She might hurt them. More, she might hurt herself. But most, she might hurt some unsuspecting single mom on her way home from work to feed her kids and later, lament her choice of their deadbeat dad who’s off banging his secretary.”
“It gonna sink in we’re here safe, so you can be done yelling at me?” he asked.
“Am I safe?” I asked back.
“You gotta ask that, you don’t know Chaos,” he retorted.
“Well, another newsflash, stud, I don’t know Chaos,” I shot back.
He leaned into me.
I smelled leather, fresh air, and the remnants of some sharp, tangy aftershave that I kid you not, actually tightened my clit.
Damn.
“Well, you’re about to know Chaos, so let’s get on to that,” he rumbled at me. “Get inside.”
“I want your promise right here you’re not gonna ax murder me when I go inside that cabin,” I snapped.
He sighed.
From around us, I heard a deep chuckle, actually a few of them.
“We’re not gonna ax murder you.” He sounded beleaguered.
He sounded beleaguered.
Right.
I was delaying getting home and meditating (and boy, did I need to meditate now) by yelling at this guy.
So I turned and cut a glance through all of the men, vaguely noticing they were all various forms of insanely good-looking (how did I not know this about the Chaos MC until now?) and stomped toward the cabin.
“Door’s the other way,” the leader of the pack called.
I shot a kill look over my shoulder and switched directions.
Once I rounded the corner I saw the cabin had a porch, no furniture on said porch, some cobwebs—totally ax murderer’s home sweet home material.
When I got to it and tried the knob, I found the door was locked.
I was hit with the scent of leather, fresh air and tang as the leader of the pack leaned into me.
I was also forced to endure the thrill caused by him murmuring close to my ear, “Key,” as he reached in and unlocked the door.
He turned the knob and pushed in.
I bolted in the open door to get away from him.
The place was dark and smelled musty.
The darkness disappeared when one of the guys switched on the single, exposed, high-watt, overhead bulb.
I turned on the pack.
Six of them.
Totally overkill.
“So, who put you up to this?” I asked, crossing my arms on my chest. “I know it wasn’t Hank. He’d consider it, but he wouldn’t do it. So my guess, it was Eddie. Wildcard Jimmy. He’s fed up with ‘crazy females who don’t think straight.’ And even though I know Jimmy’s a good guy, and I don’t know the stories, I do know they were crazy enough there were books written about them and still, that shit pisses me off because I know what I’m doing. But more importantly, I’ve got reason to do it.”
“Sit down, Rebel,” the leader ordered.
I looked behind me to see a basic wooden chair.
There were a couple more scattered around but that was the extent of the décor of the one room cabin, unless you counted the fact it had a sink, a small fridge, and a narrow two-burner stove.
I did not sit down.
I also didn’t ask why they locked this joint when there was nothing to steal, unless someone was emotionally attached to that scary, dusty stove.
I looked back to the leader and declared, “Let me share how this is gonna go. You’re gonna say a lot of stuff. I’m not gonna agree. Yadda, yadda, yadda. A lot of time wasted. We’ll part ways. I’ll do my thing. And like it is now, it’ll be none of your business. The end. So, let’s save a lot of time with you just letting me go and then you can run off and tell Hank and Eddie I was a good girl and listened.”
He got close while I was talking and stayed close after I finished.
So close, I lost track of what I was saying because I could smell him again.
And was again reminded how tall he was.
I was kinda tall, so him being so much taller than me meant he was tall.
It got worse when I noticed he’d taken off his glasses.
He had clear, light-blue eyes. Crystal clear. It was like staring into two shining gemstones.
Holy Mother of God.
“Sit down, Rebel,” he said quietly.
I felt it prudent to retreat from those eyes, so I took a step back, two, my leg hit chair and I sat.
One of the other bikers skidded a chair toward him, he caught it and set it facing me, close, almost where our knees might brush but not quite, and he sat.
I was right. Our knees didn’t brush.
I found this disappointing.
The others fanned around and stayed standing.
Okay, I had to admit, even though I felt in no danger since I knew Eddie (or Jimmy, or outside chance, Hank) was behind this and they might be ticked at me, but they liked me, the biker circle was intimidating.
“My name is Rush Allen,” the leader of the pack said.
“Well, you already know my name, so consider us introduced,” I returned.
He nodded once. “We need to talk about what you’re doing with Benito Valenzuela.”
“This is where we disagree, Mr. Allen.”
He leaned forward, his leather creaking, putting his elbows to his knees, and he tipped his dark head back.
This was a bad position. His legs were spread, his faded jeans tight on his knees, I could see their formation, and like everything about him, it was sexy. Especially them leading into thick thighs. More on the especially with his long-fingered, rough, veined hands. And adding to all that, with the arch of his neck, the column of his muscled throat was exposed above the collar of his cream thermal, and if his hair demanded your fingers buried in it, his throat demanded your lips trailing down it.
I wouldn’t allow myself to let my eyes roam to his package. If it was as good as the rest, shit might go south for me . . . fast.
Man, I was in trouble.
“I know about Diane,” he said softly.
My gaze shot from his throat to those crystal eyes, and my breath lodged in my chest because of his tone.
It was beautiful, full of warmth and sadness and understanding.
So much o
f all that, if he’d been there when Diane had died, and he’d cooed to me in that voice (perhaps while he held me in his arms and I smelled leather and tang), maybe things would have been different. Maybe I wouldn’t have let that fire ignite in my belly. Maybe I wouldn’t have fanned those flames until it was an inferno that had built out of even my control.
I straightened my spine.
“You need to pull back so you don’t become Diane, Rebel,” he advised.
“Benito Valenzuela didn’t kill my friend,” I informed him.
“You don’t know who did that,” he informed me.
“I do know. And it was not Benito Valenzuela.”
“You think it was Arthur Lannigan.”
I leaned toward him. “No. I know it was Arthur Lannigan.”
“Let Hank and Eddie prove that,” he urged.
Oh yeah.
He knew Hank and Eddie.
Shit.
“They have.” (Uh, mostly.) “They just can’t find him.”
“And you think you can.”
“I know I can.”
“By playing Valenzuela and Harrietta Turnbull to get to him?”
“By doing whatever I have to do.”
“So you get dead, your neck snapped like Diane’s, what’s Diesel gonna do?”
I abruptly leaned back in my chair.
Damn Eddie Chavez.
He gave this guy everything.
“Diesel and Maddox and Molly,” he went on. “They’ll lose their shit. Even sweet Molly. Get caught up in all this crap. And then one, two or all of them are taken out. You good with that?”
“They don’t know anything about this,” I snapped.
“They will, you get your neck broken or your throat slit.”
I looked to the side, right into a pair of attractive green eyes owned by one of the other bikers.
He looked alert, but also concerned.
The concern was sweet.
Shit, Chaos boys were sweet.
How was that even possible?
I turned my attention to the dirty, rough, wood-planked floor.
“Rebel,” Rush Allen called.
I did not lift my eyes to him.
It didn’t matter to him.
He kept talking.
“I get it. I get what you had with Diane. With Diane and Amy and Paul. I’m tight with my dad. He’s a great dad. A good man. I’m tight with my sister. She’s the best little sister a guy can have. My mom dug me, but she hated my sister, my father, treated them like trash. I had to watch that, getting her affection and watching her abuse the two most important people in my life. I was torn. Until she took it too far and I wasn’t torn anymore, and now I don’t have a mom. I don’t fully understand how it would be not to have something with either of my parents. I do understand having issues with a parent. And I understand having a sister and loving that sister but wanting a brother.”
I caught his arm swinging out in my line of sight before he continued.
“So I found brothers. You didn’t have a sister. You found a sister and with her came two parents who got you. Who loved you. Who filled the spaces your parents didn’t fill. And then your sister got hurt, which hurt them, and you want to do something about it.”
Well, one could say something about all of that.
It sucked he didn’t know me even a little bit, but he still had me figured out.
“I don’t get this part of it, but I could twist it and see how it is,” he went on. “Your dad and brother, both racists. Both bigots. Both so narrow minded, they’re practically blind. Which means both of them are assholes. Your mother toeing their line. I’m a biker. It’s in my blood, but even if I wasn’t born to it, I got it so deep in me I figure I’d be that anyway. I had people around me who didn’t get it, that’d cut deep. You’re creative. You got that as part of your soul. And I bet they didn’t get that. I bet the way they are, who they are, how they are, they didn’t get that part of you at all.”
Yeah.
He totally had me figured out.
I pulled my shit together, blanked my face, turned my head and stared him in the eyes.
But I said nothing.
“It was worse, though, wasn’t it?” he asked.
I still said nothing.
“Your other brother’s bi.”
I clenched my teeth.
“You knew it, probably even before he came out to you about it,” he carried on.
I glared at him.
How did he know all of this?
Even Hank and Eddie didn’t know all of this and I told them everything (well, obviously not everything, but most of it).
“You lost Diane,” he said quietly. “You had to witness Amy and Paul losing Diane. Then things blew up with your folks and Diesel and his partners when he finally came out to them and you lost your family. Not a big loss, but your heart doesn’t know that, does it? You took your brother’s back, and they’re done with him but because you took his back, they’re also done with you. Two big blows, Rebel. Two big losses. Tough.”
“You don’t know me,” I spat.
“Baby, the love you got for the people in your heart is written all over you,” he whispered.
God, that felt good.
I couldn’t let it feel good.
Not that good coming from this guy.
I looked to the floor on my other side and hauled in so much breath, I felt my own chest rise.
“You gotta stop this shit with Benito Valenzuela, Rebel,” he said.
I looked to him. “She had a thing for older men.”
He pressed his lips together.
“You know so much, Mr. Allen, did you see? Did you see the pictures of her? Of her house? What she was wearing? Did you see what happened to her there?”
“Rebel—”
I sat back and drawled, “You know, my favorite part is that the coroner couldn’t quite call it. You know. The business she was in. He couldn’t say. The results indicated that she’d been brutally raped prior to her death. But, you know, considering she was a porn star, that could have just been part of the day job. Or considering she was a drug addict, that could have been what she was willing to give up to get her fix.”
Rush Allen flinched.
And oh yeah.
That was worthy of a flinch.
I hadn’t flinched when I read that.
It tore me apart.
So I wasn’t done.
I couldn’t be done.
There was too much left to do.
“But I saw. Hank left his desk and it wasn’t right. I’m not sure it was even legal. But I looked at the file, I read and I saw. And I know she fought it. I know she was raped. I know she endured that and being beaten to shit before, during or after being brutally raped. Before he either accidentally or very on purpose snapped her neck. And then, done. No more chances to get her out of that mess. No more shots at getting her clean. No more opportunities to do something more with her life. Get her back on the path to her dreams. Find a good guy who loved her, yeah even one who was older.” I shrugged. “Who gives a fuck? He could still give her babies. Let her share more of what made Diane awesome with the world for generations to come.”
“That’s gotta suck,” he murmured.
“You have no idea just how much it sucks, my man,” I bit out.
He pushed up from his knees to sit straight in his chair and asked, “Do you know Natalie Harbinger?”
I shook my head, confused at this change in topic. “No.”
“She’s dead,” he shared.
“Okay,” I said slowly.
“Benito Valenzuela killed her.”
Here we go.
The recitation.
I rested my back against the chair, settling in for him to tell me what I already knew.
Benito Valenzuela was a monster.
“She was Tabby, my sister’s best friend,” he said. “Best friend for as long as I can remember.”
Oh shit.
“
Which meant she was in my life too, for a long time,” he told me. “They drifted. You know all about that. That kind of thing happens when one of you gets addicted to blow. So addicted, she’s up to her neck in debt to her dealers and has to turn to porn.”
The girl Chaos rescued.
Now dead.
Too bad Chaos didn’t know Diane.
Then again, it seemed the results would have been the same.
I said nothing.
Rush Allen carried on.
“Tore Tabby apart. Blames herself. She let them drift. She wasn’t the only one but she’s the only one left alive to feel guilt and make up ways she could have made a difference. Could have changed history. She’s certain that if she continued to try to intervene, she could have saved Natalie.”
He stared into my eyes.
“She couldn’t,” he finished, his point not even vaguely disguised.
“Your friend is not my friend,” I returned.
“Do you now Camilla Turnbull?” he asked.
I felt my shoulders tighten up.
“Do you?” he pushed.
“No,” I forced out.
Turnbull.
Something to do with Harrietta?
“She’s Harrietta’s daughter,” he informed me.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
“Sent in to play Valenzuela for Lannigan,” he continued. “Got played and ended up with her throat slit, laid out on a picnic table at our Compound on Chaos with a note stapled to her forehead.”
Yikes.
“Mr. Allen—”
He leaned toward me and dropped his voice in a way even his men, all standing close-ish, could probably not hear.
“You can try to distance yourself from me, sweetheart, by using that bullshit. But we both know what’s happening here. I’m Rush. You call me Mr. Allen again, I’m clearing the room and we’re gonna have a different kind of lesson.”
And again, he did not try to disguise his point.
And his point did not set my clit to tightening.
It set my nipples to tightening and my clit to tingling.
He leaned back and I told my nipples (and other) to behave.
“You know Scruff’s Roadhouse?” he asked.
Goddamn it.
“No,” I snapped.
“Natalie’s body was put in a body bag and dumped behind it. Woman who owned it is called Reb. Anyone call you Reb?” he asked.
“If they’re not my brother, his man or his woman, not if they want to keep their teeth.”
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